


Firm and Constant

by DoreyG



Category: Benjamin January Mysteries - Barbara Hambly
Genre: Catching Hurt Character as They Collapse, Friendship, Gen, Major Character Injury, Wound Tending, rib injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24317746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: "Jesus fucking Christ!" He yelps at the top of his lungs. And then, more mildly after he's almost lost his balance and landed face down on the floor instead: "hello, Ben."
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10
Collections: Hurt Comfort Exchange 2020





	Firm and Constant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [egelantier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/egelantier/gifts).



The corridor to his room is pretty much deserted at this time of night, which is certainly an incredibly unexpected positive. He draws in a deep breath of relief, winces at the surge of pain from his ribs and slowly starts to stagger towards his door. 

It was a difficult case, one of those complex and thorny ones that he really could've used reliable back up on but didn't want to drag any of his friends into. There had been intrigue and machinations, which had all snowballed into screaming and running, which had then further snowballed into somebody trying to stab him and partially succeeding. Just a regular, incredibly unpleasant day on the job.

He should probably get the cut over his ribs looked at, knows very well that it's not exactly a positive thing when a knife is deflected away from vital organs just because it glances off the bone, but he's mighty reluctant to press the issue at the moment. The only doctors likely to be up so late are quacks who stand a high chance of making the whole thing worse. He could go to Ben, of course, but the case really was nasty and he doesn't want to drag the man into it until he knows for certain he's not being watched.

He won't die from this, he never has before. He just needs to lie down for a bit, in his own quiet bed, and he'll be right as rain. There's nothing to worry about, there rarely is.

The door to his room isn't locked, which is a slightly worrying fact but not one that he can bring himself to worry about overmuch at the moment. He'll just have to be more careful about locking up in the future, that's all. He shoves it open, a move that usually just involves his hands but tonight takes his entire body, and kicks it shut behind him once he's staggered through. It's hardly the most dignified he's ever looked, but it's not like anybody is watching.

His bed sits demurely across the room. Usually he thinks it's a little shit, a threadbare mattress barely lifted up off the floor, but tonight it looks like a little heavenly cloud. He starts towards it slowly, drunkenly, just about managing to keep upright with every step. The world is starting to go slightly hazy around the edges, and he can't wait to sleep this off and go back to feeling normal…

Of course the universe, being an utter dick as often as possible, has different plans.

"Looks like you've had a long night," a familiar voice, mildly sympathetic but also definitively pissed off, says from the corner. The place that he usually checks out of habit, but tonight ignored in favour of his mission to find a nice flat surface to collapse face down on.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" He yelps at the top of his lungs. And then, more mildly after he's almost lost his balance and landed face down on the floor instead: "hello, Ben."

"Good evening, Shaw, " Ben, for it mercifully is Ben who's broken into his room in the middle of the night and not a knife clutching assassin, leans forward from his comfortable seat on the one chair he keeps and fixes him with a gimlet glare. "I hope you won't mind me saying, but you look absolutely terrible."

"Come on, don't be kind. Say that I look like standing shit, I know you want to," he drawls, and narrowly manages to draw himself up to his full height. He'll count it as progress, even if it makes his head spin unpleasantly to do so. "I don't mean to be rude, maestro, but why are you here?"

"You broke up a fight in the swamp, I assume as a part of some very complicated case that you've been secretly working on. Guess who still lives and works in the swamp, despite my many attempts to convince him otherwise?" Ben waits him out patiently, frowns a little more deeply when he fails to grope for an answer. "Hannibal saw you get stabbed. He predicted your response, and came to get me as soon as possible."

"Of course he did, " he grumbles, knowing that he really shouldn't be annoyed at Sefton but managing a healthy dose of it anyway. "He was being overdramatic, you know. I didn't actually get stabbed."

"He was pretty clear about how the knife went in," Ben says, still somehow mildly, and gets slowly to his feet as if he fears knocking him over completely with even the slightest breeze. "And judging by the way you're still bleeding freely from your side, and swaying on the spot like some kind of spinning top, I'm more inclined to believe him than you."

"I'm still bleeding? Shit." He pauses for a moment, tries to gather himself just a little under Ben's concerned gaze. "Somebody did come at me with a knife, yes, and they did try to stab me with that knife, yes. But it didn't go all the way in, it glanced off my ribs, and I was able to fight them off."

"You… get how that's not better, right?" Ben asks flatly, looking the least impressed he's ever seen him. Which is saying something, considering the vast amounts of bullshit they've been through. "Shaw, that still absolutely counts as a stabbing. You need immediate medical attention."

"I'll be fine," he says stubbornly, though he continues to feel like he's about to fall over at any moment and the world has gone full on kaleidoscopic around the edges. "It could've waited until the morning. You really shouldn't worry, I've survived worse than this before."

"Of that I have no doubt, " Ben says, sounding openly disapproving. It's nice, that he finally feels comfortable enough to let his true emotions show. "But you don't have to just survive this, and you don't have to wait until morning. I'm happy to take a look at you now, if you're willing to hear a lecture about treating your injuries properly."

"I really am fine, and you really shouldn't worry," he says stubbornly, feeling a certain instinctive repulsion at the thought of showing weakness in front of anybody. Even Ben, who he trusts more than pretty much any other soul on the planet. "You shouldn't have come, not at this time. "

"Shaw-" Ben starts, openly frustrated and with honest concern shining from his eyes.

"Ben," he replies stubbornly, and takes a firm step forwards - despite the swaying in his head, and the warm blood on his side, and the strange colours starting to flit across his vision - to prove his point.

This, as probably could’ve been easily predicted, turns out to be a mistake.

His legs go out from beneath him pretty much immediately, and he collapses towards the floor with a strangled yelp. His side flares with pain at about the same time, and robs him of any ability to coordinate or control himself at all. If it wasn’t for Ben leaping forward, and catching him firmly in his arms, he’d probably do himself yet another injury.

He pants for a few seconds after he’s been caught, gathering himself increment by slow increment, and then glances across at Ben apologetically. “Well, maestro, you may well have been right.”

“‘May well have been’?” Ben repeats, in a tone that promises danger. “Shaw, in what way did you think bashing your own brains out would improve your current situation?”

“I…” He stares into Ben’s face for a long moment, lets out a heavy sigh and reluctantly forces himself to untense. Ben is his best friend in this world, the only person he’d trust without analysing every single angle beforehand. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing, to finally allow himself to be vulnerable. “I wasn’t thinking. The fact is, maestro, that I’ve spent my entire life taking care of myself with little outside input. It’s hard sometimes, to acknowledge that other people are ready and willing to help.”

Ben remains silent for a long moment, but at least seems more thoughtful than angry now. “I can understand that.”

He blinks in surprise, not having expected such kindness. Which says rather more about himself than he’d like, when you think about it. “You cam?”

“It may surprise you to know, but I know a lot of people who stubbornly insist upon going it alone even when it makes no sense,” Ben says wryly, and hesitates for only a moment before dragging him a little further up and into a makeshift hug. “A lot of friends. I suppose I have three jobs now: music, unfortunate crime and convincing those close to me to accept a helping hand.”

“I just don’t want to trouble you,” he murmurs, and ignores the strange feeling of pleasure in his chest at Ben - who has every reason to loathe him - considering him a friend. “Or take up too much of your valuable time. Or put you in danger.”

“Put me in danger…?”

“We got the man that stabbed me, but we’re still not sure if he has any nasty looking friends lurking around,” he says wearily, and forces himself to go on yet again. Hell, he’s a downright fountain of emotion tonight. “And… More than that. I’m aware that your life got a lot more complicated, when you met me. I don’t want to make it any worse for you.”

“Shaw, my life got complicated for reasons only tangentially related to you,” Ben says in an exasperated tone, but keeps hugging him nonetheless. “I appreciate the thought, I really do, but… That’s what friendship is. You’ve put yourself at risk for me, and so I’m willing to put myself at risk for you. It’s how it works.”

It sounds so simple, when Ben puts it like that. It sounds so touching. He takes in a deep breath, forces a wry smirk onto his face before his emotions can do anything embarrassing. “Have you ever considered that you need better friends?”

“Every single day. But somehow, a part of me thinks that I’ve already got the best ones going,” Ben informs him, equally wry, and slowly starts to shift upwards from their awkward puddle upon the floor. “Come on, let’s get you to bed and then I can see about actually treating that wound.”


End file.
